


Award Ceremonies

by gonefornow



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Bottom Calum, M/M, Top Luke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 04:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3755203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonefornow/pseuds/gonefornow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cake one-shots revolving around award ceremonies.<br/>Chapter 1 - AMAs and ARIAs 2014<br/>Chatper 2 - Luke thinks of all the ways he hates Calum during the iHeart Radio Awards 2015</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guys! I had to write this! The symmetry of Luke staring back and watching Cashton hug at the AMAs & then Cal hugging Luke first-thing at the ARIAs 3 days later was too much for me.

 

  


 

[ **November 23, 2014 - American Music Awards  
** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MlH6sVHagsA)

They win ‘New Artist of the Year’.

Their mutual excitement makes each of them stand a little taller, chests puffed out in pride, as Julianne Hough reads off their name. It’s not their first award, or their most prestigious. The mid-year Billboards measured concrete album-sales and it’s a miracle they won ‘Breakthrough Artist’ against stiff competition from Charlie XCX and Sam Smith and Iggy and everyone else. The AMAs are fan-voted and their army of frenzied teenage fangirls almost makes them a shoo-in. But success still feels new enough for them to get pumped about every win, no matter how likely. 

Luke’s out of his seat with the other three, reflexively searching out Calum. It’s always that way; Luke used to find it awkward to admit, but he’s slowly accepted that the first person he wants to share _everything_ with is Calum Hood. (He hasn’t quite gotten around to thinking about _why_.) But it’s not possible now; the bassist is already in Ashton’s embrace and Luke consoles himself with the promise of _later_.

* * *

 

They keep their speech short and to the point, sticking to the script they planned out beforehand. Not because they thought they would win but to be sure they acknowledge everybody. It’s the polite thing to do. The most punk-rock thing about them is their music, after all.

Michael is the first to start, rattling off a few of the names responsible for their success today. Then it’s Calum’s turn, his head-cold making his voice raspier today than on most others. Luke has to remind himself they’re on stage and staring too intensely would be _inappropriate;_ it’s easier said than done because Calum looks particularly beautiful today. Luke loves his hair when he’s just woken up and it’s a soft, curly mess falling into his sleepy face. But this style, bone-straight, blond fringe barely obscuring thick black eyebrows and chocolate eyes is outright sexy, especially because it makes his curved mouth look that much more scarlet in contrast, tempting Luke to have a taste. Invasive thoughts that insist Luke kiss Calum come more frequently now, slowly becoming harder and harder to ignore.

He manages, leaning over towards the microphone once Calum’s finished to thank their crew. His eyes automatically up towards Calum searching for approval once he’s made his spiel; it’s disappointment. There is no reassuring smile or nod. The older man stares straight ahead, ignoring him, those tempting lips pursed into the hint of a pout. Calum’s natural expression is relentlessly, effortlessly, unstoppably sexy without any thought behind it or how it makes Luke’s heart flip-flop in his chest.

Thankfully, Ashton provides a distraction; like always, the drummer is a little more elaborate as he thanks the fans in that sincere way Luke knows is real because he lives with it everyday. It’s a quick minute and a half. Well-earned fruition to all the nights of rehearsals, days of non-stop van rides, and bus-rides, and plane-rides. Endless venues and countless hotel rooms. Playing through bad colds and missed birthdays.

Not to say they’re ungrateful. Luke knows they’re four of the luckiest kids around, get to live incredible lives and have their dreams come true. But a little recognition still feels good, especially when it’s over so quick, the presenters already ushering them away from the microphone to keep pace with the schedule.

Luke’s already half-way backstage when he turns around and realizes he’s alone. His band-mates huddle upstage, still celebrating together. He watches enviously when Calum wraps a friendly arm around Ashton’s shoulder, giving him a tight squeeze, his lovely chocolate eyes crinkling as a happy grin stretches his lips wide. He makes a tally: two Calum-hugs for Ashton, none for him. In that moment, Luke can’t help feel abandoned.

Then, the next instant, Calum and Ashton notice him and they’re both rushing forward, arms wide open to enfold him in their embrace. It pleases him to no ends when Calum is the first to reach him, throwing slender hands around his shoulders and linking them over Luke’s chest. Ashton’s forgotten, and later on, Luke will feel guilty for ignoring one of his best-friends; but for right now, there’s the wonderful weight of Calum pulling him backwards with his face buried in Luke’s shoulder. Luke tips his head back, mouth widening into a short burst of laughter, heart-pounding with _joy_ as the older man clings to him, trusting him to guide them both forward.

  


 

[ **November 26, 2014 - ARIAs  
** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MlH6sVHagsA)

Three days later, they’re at the ARIAs. And this time, Luke wins the tally where he compares how much affection Calum gives him versus the other two.

Delta Goodram hasn’t quite finished announcing their win for ‘She Looks So Perfect’ as ‘Song of the Year’ when Calum’s out of his seat and turning on his heels, warm, doe-brown eyes plastered on Luke, left hand already reaching out towards him. The response is immediate; Luke wraps an arm around Calum’s slender waist and _tugs_ the smaller man forward into his chest, too impatient to let him walk into the embrace at his own pace. But the brunette has no complaints; Calum’s fingers curl into Luke’s shoulders, and the blond can feel his smile brush against the sensitive skin of his neck as they stand their wrapped up together, basking in their well-deserved win (and each other). 

In the brief few seconds they have before Michael and Ashton crowd around them, Luke lets himself pretend that _he’s_ the one Calum Hood wants to share everything with.

 

**\--**

**Hi guys! Thanks for reading! Please reblog using[this link](http://flameretardant123.tumblr.com/post/116361531043/cake-imagine-ama-aria) on tumblr if you want to reblog!**

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**

Acknowledgement: The ARIA picture belongs to _[cutehoodings](http://tmblr.co/mi8Js_SpDbP2wVkrVTk79_Q) _ :) _  
_

 


	2. Hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke thinks about all the ways he hates Calum during their acceptance speech for fan-army at the iHeart Radio Music Awards, 2015.

 

  


 

You’re laughing at me. 

I can tell you’re making an admirable effort at keeping a neutral expression; we’re on National TV after all. But I see the edges of your eyes crinkle and the corners of your mouth tighten when your gaze subtly drifts downwards and notices my _problem_. I’m going to face merciless ridicule from you once we’re back in the car.

Asshole. 

Who do you think caused this problem in the first place? _You_ were the shameless slut practically begging me to bend you over and fuck you at dinner. Not in so many words of course. You would never say such things. But the way you ate tonight was _obscene_ , savoring every bite of your steak, dark, heavy-lidded eyes slipping shut with sweet pleasured moans, tongue darting out occasionally to swipe tiny flecks of white sauce off the corners your plump, red lips. 

* * *

 

I hate you. 

I hate that you can make me rock-hard by _eating_. I hate how casually you show me your body, walk around naked so I am forced to watch your pretty curves, learn how beautifully your waist flares into your round ass. I hate how you hang out in my boxers and t-shirts sometimes, as if you’re totally comfortable with the idea of living in my clothes so everyone will be able to tell you’re mine just by _smelling_ you. 

I hate that you are so blind, so painfully oblivious to how I want to taste you, _ruin_ you, hold you down and fuck into you till you’re screaming for mercy. Think I couldn’t do it? Think you’ll be able to fight me off if (when?) I get desperate enough to force you? We’re both grown up now, and you make solid attempts to buff up your naturally slim physique by regular visits to the gym. But you were never meant to be a big guy, while I get broader every day. 

I fantasize about _it_ , imagine you’d put me through a hell of a fight before I managed to get you underneath me. But you would be worth every bruise, every gash, almost unbearably tight and scorching heat when I push into you, your beautiful face flushed, your pretty doe eyes scrunched up with tears leaking from the corners as you adjust to being taken for the first time. My little virgin whore.

Of course, this scenario can only exist in my head. I won’t do it, would never seriously consider taking something so precious from you unless you are willing. You’re my best friend and I am yours. And maybe that’s the problem. 

You see me, but you don’t _really_ see. You snuggle up against me, beg me for cuddles with those damned puppy-eyes, hide your face in the back of my neck when we walk through those big crowds you dislike so much. True, we’ve always done those things but my desperate mind now clutches at fleeting moments when we are so _close_ , and I can _almost_ pretend you’re giving me some hope. But then I see you in a doggy-pile with Michael and Ashton, and I am back in cruel reality.

I hate that you won’t open your eyes and _look_ , realize I’m not that awkward kid you met back in Year 7, that I would protect you, cherish you, and _love_ you if you only gave me half a chance. 

I wish I could throw you away, scrape the all-consuming fantasies of what life would be like if you were mine out of my sleepless brain. I’ve tried a thousand different remedies. From alcohol to whores, and everything in between.

It’s all for nothing.

I am powerless to resist you, would never be able to hate you in a million years. And _that_ is what I hate the most. For now, maybe forever, I can do nothing to escape this blissful torture.

You’re staring at me expectantly, waiting to add your own piece. I deliberately shift my fingers a little higher around the mic and hold it out towards you as casually as I can, anticipate that mind-numbing spark of electricity that will set me on fire when your fingers brush mine.

**\--**

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